


To Everything There is a Season

by KangKorandKoloth



Series: My Bleach Big Bang work (inc Bings) [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Seasons, bleach big bang: bing one, slightly angsty, sumer to autumn mood, think peice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 08:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KangKorandKoloth/pseuds/KangKorandKoloth
Summary: A short oneshot focussed on Rose's thoughts about returning to soul society. Part of  Bing#1 for the Bleach Big Bang





	To Everything There is a Season

**Author's Note:**

> Very different to what I normally write, but wanted to get out of my comfort zone for a bit. I've been roleplaying Rose for about three years now and have never used him in fic. Decided it was high time that changed.
> 
> The dream sequence was inspired by Rufus Wainwright's Complimente de la Butte and the title is a reference to Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. Enjoy :)

_To everything there is a season_ although here, in the melodic bars of a tune not heard in a hundred years drifting across the vestige of a sleep-addled mind, it was easy to forget that. The singer was both familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time, dragging out memories from the shadows, the smell of honeysuckle and cut grass, cold water and unrelenting heat. The tune was consistent to the beat of three, the singer discernibly out of tune on some of the higher notes, but beautiful nonetheless.

Through it all, the sleeper smiled both inside and out, caught up in the melody, the sensation of movement almost like a dance, weaving its way into tale until he could have sworn he was there, waltzing along with the voice that held his attention so ardently. He felt lips pressed against his, a body astride him looking down with eyes he couldn’t quite remember, but at one time had driven him to distraction. The rest of her a silhouette, a template of something that had been there but no longer was. He could hear a crystalline laugh, feel the brush of long hair against his bare skin, but nothing else. She was a phantom of a forgotten era. It had been in a time where romance had been for the young and naïve, in a place where he could have taken on the world.

Yet, through the dancing and the heat, it was the song that lingered longest.  He could hear it as plain as day as sweet as it had been all those years ago, it was louder and stronger than anything else here, but different all the same, gentler, sweeter. He preferred it that way he thought, even if it wasn’t completely real. If he could he’d keep it with him, at least until the name of the singer came back to him.

There was little time to dwell on the matter, though. From somewhere he couldn’t see a light was shining; a harsh white bar of it streaking across his eyes making him blink and forcing them to open. That was enough to break the spell and reluctantly, one eye relented, staring down the beam with distain as its owner tried to get his bearings. He was back in the room – in _his_ room although it still didn’t feel like it, the cold light of day streaming through the window he’d been certain he’d closed the shutters on. This was his room and his bed, the rest nothing but a dream. He was Rose Otoribashi, he was once again captain of the Gotei 13’s third Division and this was a rude awakening. He tried to linger in half sleep for a while longer, coming up short in every possible way before conceding the day and its sunshine had won out; it was time to get up.  

The light, still seeping through the blind, was cold and harsh compared to the softer, warmer suns of months past: the surest sign yet of summer turning into Autumn. This was cool and crisp and not quite what he wanted just yet. Another week maybe two to enjoy the season would have been ideal, even if it only delayed the inevitable.  

The time for idling in the summer sun was now long past; the concept of taking time to enjoy the weather, a thing of his dreams now that duty overrode pleasure. He was here, through informed choice and now he had to live with it. Not that it was as simple as that. Old habits die hard and it was at times like these, when sleep beckoned him back to bed and the desire to while away the hours doing nothing was strong, was when he needed reminding of that the most. He had made his own bed and now needed to lie in it. From somewhere in the distance he could hear the sounds of men training, the bark of commands pervading through all until the song became fainter and fainter and was buried under the weight of list upon list; the menus and sub menus of tasks and other detritus that formed the basis of his days now.

A year ago, maybe less, he had been the master of his own time. He was a free man, able to enjoy these waning few days of heat at his leisure.  The human world appreciated the beauty of the seasons in a way the Gotei did not. They seemed to take joy in a first snowfall or when the leaves went from green to red, threw parties for springtime cherry blossoms and made the most of blistering summers. He missed that, Rose thought, although there were a great many things he missed about the living realm.

Now, having returned to a land so similar but different all at the same tiem, the living realm  felt like a distant memory  and part of a very different summer. There was a tiredness to him now, Rose thought, a world weariness that came from exile and the involuntary kind of retirement he and his fellow Vizard has been drawn thanks to Aizen and central 46.  To be here now felt like coming out of hibernation; a more decidedly spring like feel, if he hadn’t felt so worn down. There was a world to relearn and a century of progress to catch up on, even if very little seemed to have changed.  He sighed at the thought of it, fighting the urge to slip back under the covers and back to faceless lovers and summers passed – did he really have to face this down again? He wasn’t sure he had the energy or resilience any more to deal with the fallout from Ichimaru or a lieutenant that held him so steadfastly at arms-length; a worrying kind of strong and silent. Things could be worse. He knew that full well. He could be Shinji and facing a completely different set of problems when it came to division management or any of the other squads who’d had enough to pick up after the debacle which was the winter war.

In the face of neverending work and covert hostility, perhaps it was misguded to have returned in the first place. It wasn’t the first time Rose had considered such a thought either. As sound as his reasoning was, wanting to make amends for the long stretch he himself had left the Third without a captain, there was still a part of him of worried he might have acted to rashly in returning. There were others who had stayed back without giving it a second thought; their reasons steeped in the same principles he knew he held deep down. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to stay with them; he could have done it easily and waved off the other two knowing his time stretched on indefinitely for him to enjoy. There'd be less to worry about; less work, fewer stares from officers asking unspoken questions and giving him a wide berth. He would have had his music and the chance for a more peaful existence than the Gptei had ever offered. Perhaps, if he’d chosen that particular path, there would have been time today to dissect that dream and identify the mysterious singer.

However, the idea of turning his back on a division who needed him was not the man he strove to be. There was art to be found in hedonism no doubt, but not the kind he wished to make. He was a man of honour, one who wished to be known for his sense right and wrong. To have that and to be the commander his men needed, was worth more to him than snatches of memory and half remembered songs from long ago.

Besides, he thought, replaying the dream with its phantom singer while stretching a leg experimentally out of bed and hearing the joints crack, he was no longer strictly as young as he had been back when those memories first formed. Though not strictly past the prime of his life, he was older and wiser and smart enough to know that here, in the Third with all its problems was where he was meant to be. He was older now, wiser through the grace of exile and that wisdom was best put to use here. It would work out, it would have to whether he liked it or not. Change was in the air and for better or worse he had returned. There were amends to be made and this was the price he’d chosen to pay. Summers like the one from his dream could take a back seat until the debt was finally settled.

He rolled out of bed, straightened out the wrinkles in his plain white robe and made his way towards the bathroom. It was time to make a start, the song and its singer could wait for its season to grace him once more, once the time came to change again. Rose had no doubt that it would.


End file.
